Page 8

A week later

Late June

M iles grinned up at Graham and slapped the duke’s riding boot, nestled in the stirrup. “You’re doing a fine job. Balance is key, but it’s also not something easily learned. You have a natural aptitude in the saddle.”

“I thought I would die the first few rides. My legs and back ached so. I still don’t think I’d enjoy being in the saddle for hours, as you do when accompanying us beside the carriage.

” The duke wiggled in the saddle, getting comfortable.

He sat on a docile bay gelding, its deep-brown hide gleaming in the afternoon sun.

“Let’s leave the paddock and take a ride into the village. The steward needs to speak with us, and we can stop by his place on the way,” suggested Miles, handing the crop to his cousin. “I think if we keep a sedate pace you will be fine.”

Shackerley had asked Miles to take charge and allow him to “be like a shadow,” learning as he went and following Miles’s lead. It was a sound plan, and it would overwhelm the young man as he saw the massive amount of details there were to running an estate. Even with a good steward.

They left the stable yard, Shackerley whistling for his new best friend, who padded along behind them. Mounted on his own black steed, Miles and the duke ambled across several fields as Miles pointed out boundaries, different crops, and a little history of the estate.

“In the early 1400s, the first Duke of Shackerley was given this land near the border to protect the Crown from Scottish rebellions and raids. Later, he supplied an army for the Lancastrians during the wars of the Roses,” Miles explained.

“There is a long history of loyalty and duty to the Crown in this family.”

“We’ve inherited quite a legacy,” said Shackerley. “I only hope we continue to bring honor to the name.”

“You come from determined stock, Cousin. I believe you shall make an excellent duke.” Miles wondered at the doubt in Shackerley’s tone.

Then again, he was in a new land, with new expectations and responsibilities.

The steward had recognized Graham as a Beaumaris immediately, as did some of the older tenants.

The duke had a relaxed way about him, putting the villagers and tenants at ease as they discussed their needs and talking in a personable manner rather than in a condescending way. Miles doubted his cousin had a patronizing bone in his body, and he hoped the dukedom didn’t change that.

“I had no idea a duke had to care for so many people, affected so many lives. My grandfather appears to have wielded his power carefully, not using a heavy hand,” said Shackerley. “I was under the impression the late duke had been somewhat of a curmudgeon.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say he was jovial, but he was not harsh.

I believe the rift between him and your father had more to do with how the marriage took place.

” Miles wasn’t a gossip, but he did have his own opinion of what had happened.

“Your father had gone to London on business for the duke. He ended up staying for several months, and when he returned, it was with your mother. They were already married.”

“So he was taken by surprise,” said Shackerley. “I can see it being quite a jolt to suddenly learn his heir has married, and others knew before he did. But to never relent in his position…”

“The duke’s pride was always an issue, according to my father. He refused to be the first to back down, and your father started a new life in Quebec.”

“Yet Grandfather named his favorite hound Harry.”

Miles shook his head. “Who knows what might have happened had your father survived.”

“You’re right, of course. Mama always blamed herself.

A penniless daughter of an immigrant Frenchman, who was chased from his own country during the Reign of Terror.

It was not an advantageous match, but Mama said they were so in love.

She believed my father could do anything.

” The young duke paused. “Except conquer a fever the winter after we were born.”

“So you never knew your father?” he asked.

Shackerley shook his head. “We know about him, his life, his portrait, through my mother.”

“My mother died giving birth to me, so she’s not even a memory. We learn we have more in common every day.” Miles felt the bond between them strengthen.

“Was your sister older?”

He nodded. “By ten years. I was a miracle babe. The physician had told my father that she would never carry another child.” Miles shrugged. “Yet here I am.”

“And I’m so glad you are!” said the duke, giving Miles a wistful glance.

“What happened to your estate? Why did Sir Samuel call you a wizard?” Shackerley grimaced. “I apologize. I shouldn’t pry.”

“We’re family. You’re allowed.” Miles gave him a reassuring smile.

“The estate had some trouble a few years in a row. Bad weather, then disease hit the sheep. So he decided to put his available cash into a ship. So many people were making a fortune during the War, and he thought to try his luck as well.”

“He wasn’t lucky I take it.”

“He invested in a ship with two other men, then purchased manufactured goods—cloth, guns, and luxuries such as tea and wine—to trade in America. They planned on bringing back raw cotton on the return journey.” Miles sighed.

“He would have been out of Dunn territory if the voyage had been successful.”

“But?”

“Once docked, the goods were unloaded. That night, before payment was exacted, the entire shipment was stolen. Then some drunken radicals sought revenge for the impressment of English-born, naturalized Americans into the Royal Navy. They set the ship afire.” He gave a mirthless laugh.

“If anyone tells me they have a foolproof investment, I run the other way.”

“What about the insurance?” asked the duke.

“The certificate covered the cargo as long as it was on the water—whether the ship was attacked or sunk—but once it was unloaded, Lloyd’s of London was no longer responsible.”

“Why didn’t he ask my grandfather for help?”

Miles snorted.

“Pride,” they both said at once and laughed.

* * *

“I’ll bring over the lavender for your bath,” Mama said as they both stopped at their chamber doors. “It will help you sleep tonight after your long ride.”

“Thank you,” Gwen said, looking forward to soaking in the hot water.

She had done well on the ride, but a total of three hours had taken a toll on her muscles.

The estate manager had informed them that he was retiring.

Gwen had hoped he had a son or nephew who could take over, but no such luck.

Wickford had assured her they would find another.

The manager would stay on long enough to help transition his replacement. .

Closing the door, she went through Graham’s clothes in the wardrobe and chose a pair of trousers, waistcoat, linen shirt, and stockings to wear to dinner. She had just tossed her cravat and shirt on the floor when her mother knocked on the door.

“For the love of Hercules, come in,” she said, clad in only the trousers and the binding around her chest.

She looked up to see the shocked face of Mr. Garner. “I beg my-your pardon, Y-Your Grace,” he stuttered.

Gwen screamed, wrapping her arms around her the strips of cloth covering her breasts. Behind her, Mama gasped. “I-I can explain,” Gwen began, wondering how she would.

The stricken butler closed his eyes and turned to leave.

“Wait,” she cried, scrambling for her shirt and tossing it over her head. “Don’t leave, Mr. Garner.”

Mama held out her arms, blocking his way. Then she pushed the poor man backwards, his eyes still closed, and slammed the door shut. “You can open your eyes now,” her mother told him.

He did but refused to turn around. Gwen had to walk around him and stand in front of him.

She saw a sheen of sweat on his brow and realized how shaken this proper man was.

Gwen took his arm and marched him to a chair, walked to the wardrobe, and withdrew a bottle of whisky the old duke had kept hidden there.

Pulling the stopper out of the bottle, she handed it to Mr. Garner. “Drink, you’ll feel better. Or so I’ve been told.”

“You will,” echoed Mama from experience. “Now, it isn’t what you think. My children are twins. Gwendolyn is only taking Graham’s place until he arrives. Then they will switch and tell everyone his sister has arrived.”

The butler took a long pull off the bottle, then held it with both hands, his eyes darting back and forth between mother and daughter.

“Although Graham doesn’t know we’re here yet.

The investigators are tracking him in Canada, someplace with lots of timber.

We think. They assured us they could find him, and they were so confident that we believed them.

And we’re sure Graham will want to be a duke, so everything will be well in the end.

” Gwen took a ragged breath. “Do you understand?”

He nodded and took several more swallows of whisky.

“Will you keep our secret?” asked Mama.

His gray eyes widened. “I cannot lie to Lord Wickton.” Another pull off the bottle.

Gwen knew how rattled the man must be to drink in front of them. “We’re not asking you to lie for us. Just don’t bring it up.”

“Or change the subject if the viscount comes too close to the truth,” added her mother, nervously smoothing her raven hair back into her chignon.

“I plan on telling him soon,” Gwen explained. “I just haven’t found the right time yet.”

“Wh-why?” croaked the butler.

“We were destitute, barely able to feed ourselves, and the house we lived in was being sold,” said Mama with a sniff. “It was agonizing not being able to provide for my daughter.”

“When we learned about the inheritance, I thought we would just begin the proceedings for my brother. A… proxy of sorts.” Gwen smiled, considering proxy a better word than substitute.

“An imposter, you mean.” The butler had found his voice.

Mama wailed, tears pouring down her cheeks in earnest as she shook her head. “I-I tried t-to talk her out of it.”

“It really is all my fault,” agreed Gwen, blinking rapidly to stall her own onslaught of hot tears and failing.

The horror on Mr. Garner’s face as he realized he was trapped in a room with a bottle of whisky and two sobbing females was almost comical. Almost. He tipped back the bottle again.

Gwen went on her knees and threw her arms around the butler. “Please, don’t tell Miles. I must find the right time, or he will hate me.”

“And she loves him,” squeaked Mama.

Mr. Garner’s mouth fell open, then a slow smile curved his lips, transforming his face. “I knew something wasn’t quite right. And the way Harry acted when he first met you. Smelling your trunks and the clothes you wore, then smelling your hand, only to howl.”

Gwen bit her lip and held her breath, hoping the butler was softening. “I wonder if twins have a similar scent, and it puzzled him.”

“And some of your mannerisms when you thought you weren’t being watched…” Mr. Garner set the whisky on the floor. “You’re in love with Lord Wickton?”

Gwen swallowed, her world tilting. She hadn’t been sure until this moment, hearing Mama say it. “Yes, I do. For the love of Hercules, I really do.”

Mr. Garner stood, took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I have known the viscount since he was a child. I know the losses he has endured, the sweat he has poured into his estate—and how lonely he is.”

“Well?” asked Mama, dabbing at her eyes with a sodden handkerchief.

“I will keep your secret if you promise to tell him within the week.” He walked to the door and opened it. “Even if he is angry at the news, he is a reasonable man. Give him time and he will accept—if not condone—your scheme. It’s obvious he is very fond of you.”

With that, he left them. Gwen and her mother stared at the empty doorway and then at each other. Mama collapsed in the vacated chair, picked up the bottle of whisky, and took a healthy swallow.